A Ragtime Requiem
by capercailiechild
Summary: Mass murder, a killed priest, Sara's niece... it all adds up to an interesting time for our favorite CSIs.
1. In the Beginning

He sat back, not preparing to be astonished. After all, it was only ragtime. And it wasn't like he had bought the ticket. Doc Robbins had, but he'd had to step out because of a last-minute autopsy. So he had taken the ticket and given it to Grissom.

But to the man slowly going deaf, ragtime wasn't what he needed. True, it was _orchestral_ ragtime, performed by the Las Vegas City Orchestra. But some Mahler, Holst, or Mozart would have satisfied Gil.

The orchestra began to file onstage. Gil sat up in his seat. Though he might not have wanted to be there, he was still a polite concert attendee.

As the cello section came onstage, Gil though he saw a familiar brown head. But the feeling came as quickly as it had come, until he looked down at his program. "Sidle, Sara" he read from the alphabetical list under the heading "Cello." So. He had not been wrong.

Maestro Paul Stoddard took the stage. "Tonight, I'd like to welcome you to our performance of many of Scott Joplin's works. Our first number will begin with a clarinet and piano duet performed by Mary-Ellen Strauss, first clarinet, and Clint Semple, a visiting pianist from Great George, South Dakota. Our first number, ladies and gentlemen: 'The Entertainer and Ragtime Dance.'"

He turned to the orchestra amidst the applause. Mary-Ellen Strauss and Clint Semple played their short duet, a version of "The Entertainer." Then the fast-paced "Ragtime Dance" started. Gil was pleased to see Sara bowing and playing just as well as any of the other cellos. They all looked – and sounded – spectacular, even the fresh-faced snare-playing percussionist who reminded Gil of Greg for some reason.

When the concert was over, he found Sara backstage, carefully tucking away her cello. "You know," he said, "many of Joplin's songs have inspired complex mathematical expressions."

"Only you, Grissom." She turned, and was smiling. "What are you doing here?"

"I got stood up." He smiled back. "Doc Robbins got called to a last-minute autopsy for Cath and Warrick's case."

Sara clicked the last latch on her cello case. "Well, if you enjoyed tonight's concert, you should come back next week. We're doing 'Carmen.'"

Gil grinned to himself, but only said calmly, "I love 'Carmen.'"

His pager went off just then. So did Sara's. "It's Brass," she said before Gil could respond. "Let's go."


	2. The Case Begins

By the time Sara and Grissom reached the Gate of Heaven complex on Klordaalva Highway, Sara had changed out of her concert blacks and into knit black pants, a blue sweater, and a forensics windbreaker. She was in the process of changing her shoes when Grissom and Brass walked up. "What've we got?"

Brass looked at Grissom, then said, "Bodies. Lots of bodies."

"Cult ritual suicide?" Grissom asked.

"That's probably what they wanted us to think. No. Too many bullets, too much blood spatter," Brass said.

"How many are we talking?" Sara asked.

"I lost count."

They stepped inside the house. It appeared to be the main building in the complex, tall, painted white like the other ten or so buildings. A sign over the door read: "Eating Hall."

"Grissom, what's the deal with the Gate of Heaven cult?" Sara asked, following behind Brass.

"They are a doomsday cult... or... were..."

They stopped short in the doorway.

"Meet the members of the Gate of Heaven cult... all fifty-one of them," Brass said.

Sara gagged, looking at the bodies. "What... in hell... happened?"

"Anyone hear anything, see anything?" Grissom asked, kneeling down next to a woman's body. "Sara, you okay?"

Sara swallowed hard. "Yep, I'm good."

"What do you think, out here on the lonesome highway? No. Nobody's here, Grissom. Nobody saw anything. Nobody here would have said anything anyway," Brass replied. "Nobody anymore."

There was blood everywhere. Bodies lay on the floor in no particular arrangement. Women, men, children. Many were dressed casually in what seemed to be the cult's "uniform," navy pants and shirt for men, navy skirt and blouse for women. No one wore any shoes. All the shoes were lined up in a row next to one wall. "Did they do that, or did our perp do that?" Sara asked.

"Perp. These people were dead when their shoes were removed," Grissom replied. "Sara, check over there by the door to see if you can get any footprints."

Sara stepped over the bodies, closer to the door. As she stepped over what appeared to be the body of a young woman, a white face peered up. Sara shrieked. So did the face.

"Sara? What is it?"

"A... a girl."

A girl, nine or ten, maybe, pulled herself up out of the blood she'd been lying in next to the body of the young woman. She was coated in blood – her skirt, shirt, hair, hands, bare legs, and everything but most of her face. She attempted to wipe some of the blood our of her nose, mouth, and ears, but her bloody shirt only made it worse.

"Hey," Sara said cautiously. "Hey, I'm Sara. What's your name?"

The girl looked up at Sara with deep indigo eyes, but said nothing. Grissom came over, and repeated, "Can you tell us what your name is?"

The girl didn't seem to notice. Nor did she seem to understand what they were saying. She stared off into space.

"Tell Brass we've only got fifty victims," Grissom said. "Let's also try to get an ID on all the vics; maybe they've got a list of members around here. The one who isn't accounted for is the girl."


	3. Catherine and Warrick's Case

Catherine looked up from the table, where she had been carefully piecing together fragments of a stained glass window. She sighed. It was eight o'clock on a Sunday evening. Warrick was down in autopsy with Doc Robbins.

"Cath! Yo!" Greg came in, his spiky hair wild, a pair of headphones blaring around his neck. Some bright techno assaulted Catherine's ears.

"Greg, my man. What's up?" She smiled at him.

"I've got more glass."

"More?"

"_Leaded_ glass, to be exact. Captain Brass was comparing them to some samples found on a suspect. Where's Sara?"

"Well, she was at an orchestra performance, and then she and Grissom were called out to a case on Klordaalva Highway."

"She's got a phone call. It sounds urgent."

"What sounds urgent?" Warrick walked in, snapping off a pair of latex gloves.

"This phone call for Sara."

Footsteps approached up the hall. Sara was walking towards them. Her clothes were bloodstained and she looked tired, but smiled as she saw them. "What's up?"

"What've you and Grissom got?"

"Mass murder."

"There's a phone call for you," Greg said, and handed her the phone.

She went off into the conference room as Grissom came up the hallway, leading the little girl. The PD had cleaned her up and found her some clothes. Her dark hair hung long and damp, and she looked out of place in a pair of threadbare jeans and a Mickey Mouse T-shirt.

"Team," Grissom said, "I'd like you to meet Dune Mahoney, the last living member of the Las Vegas Gate of Heaven cult."

The girl's expression did not change. Grissom said, "We're going to get her something to eat."

Sara came back in. "Grissom, I've got to go."

"Now?"

"Yeah."

"Fill me in," Catherine said after Sara had left, nodding to Warrick. Grissom led the girl by the hand, in search of food. Greg sat on a stool and listened as well.

"Our vic is Father James Carollan-O'Malley, 49. Pastor of St. Wilhelmina's Roman Catholic Church, which is where we found him. Robbins puts TOD at about nine-thirty, so the church would have been empty. There was another priest, Father Duncan Stein, 64, but he was in the rectory, reading. He didn't hear anything. He saw a brown panel van near the church at that that time, but assumed it was a gardener." Warrick gave Catherine two photos of potential brown panel vans. "He thinks it might have

been this Ford, but we're keeping the Dodge open."

"The window was located over the door," Catherine said. "We assume the perp threw a rock through the window to startle the vic, then came in through the door, which was unlocked."

"Unlocked?"

"Yes, Father Carollan-O'Malley was holding a midnight vigil for the Blessed Mary, and several nuns from the convent apparently were coming over to join him in a half hour. They were the ones who found Father Carollan-O'Malley, and called the police. Father Stein didn't even hear anything."

Catherine studied the pictures of the panel vans. "One of the nuns mentioned seeing this van near the church the other day." She pointed to the Ford. "She's here for questioning."

Sister Mary Scholastica sat at a table in the interrogation room. She was dressed as a nun of the Order of Blessed Mary – a dark navy habit with a white caul around the head and a navy wimple over that. A large white collar stood out on the dark dress, and the Sister wore a large cross necklace. Because her hair was totally covered, there was really no way to determine how old Sister Mary Scholastica was. Catherine put her age at thirty, maybe. Warrick guessed thirty-two. Neither was correct. Sister Mary Scholastica was twenty-five.

"So you saw this van near St. Wilhelmina's the other day?" Catherine asked, laying the picture on the table.

The nun nodded. "Yes."

"Did you assume that anything out of the ordinary was going on?'

"No, vans of that sort are often around the church. The leader of the local Meals on Wheels program owns a van of that sort. His name is Ryan Kirk."

"Was Meals on Wheels going on that day?"

"No, but Ryan is also a gardener of sorts. He does odd jobs and helps out the Fathers."

"Is he paid?"

"No, Ryan is a volunteer," Sister Mary Scholastica replied.

"That's all. Thank you for your time," Catherine said. "We'll contact you if there is any other information we need."

"Glad to be of service," the nun said, and left.


	4. Emily

The airport was crowded, but Sara managed to move quickly to gate 15. "Excuse me," she said to the attendant, who was reading _People_. "Is this the flight from Yuster, South Dakota?"

The attendant gestured to the sign above her head without looking up from _People_. "Flight 735 from Yuster, Boise, Lemmings, and Okinoba. Arrived ten minutes ago."

"I got a call that my niece was here. Where do I pick her up?"

"Waiting area's over there, but she's probably at the baggage carousel."

"You don't understand. My niece has cerebral palsy, she's in a wheelchair. The man I spoke to said he would meet me here."

"What was his name?"

"Uhh... Michael." "That'd be Michael Armguster, our Special Transport Head for this flight. He's over there." The attendant gestured with her chin, popping a bubble of pink gum.

There was indeed a tall man standing near gate 15. Sara turned to him. "I'm Sara Sidle, you called me about my niece."

"Yes, Emily Sidle?"

"That's correct."

"We're bringing her chair off the plane now. You'll need to sign some release forms, but she's basically yours."

"I don't understand."

"What do you mean, Ms. Sidle?"

"No one called to tell me she was coming."

"Was there a family crisis?"

"There might be," she said faintly. Emily's mother had cancer. Her brother was a drug addict and involved in part-time low-profile robbery. Her father, Sara's brother, was a self-absorbed college professor only interested in the history of the Punic Wars. Her sister, Claire, had gotten herself pregnant at sixteen, two years ago, and now lived in the garage at the family's house in Yuster, South Dakota with her two sons, dabbled in drugs, and had been arrested twice. Anything along those lines could be considered a family crisis.

"We'll know soon enough," said Michael.

The door to the gate opened then, and two flight attendants came out. One headed for the attendant's station at the side of the gate, but the other stopped and began to speak to Michael in a low tone. Michael turned back to Sara. "Ms. Sidle, your niece is here."

"Thank you," Sara answered. She turned to the door. Coming up the ramp from the plane was a girl Sara remembered all too well.

Emily was Sara's second niece. Her brother David and her sister Claire were unimportant to Sara. She loved Emily. And it wasn't just because Emily was so obviously handicapped. It was because no one really loved Emily besides Sara. Her parents were too busy and so were her siblings. That left Sara, who was her father's only sibling. Her mother was an only child. Emily lived for the short visits her father allowed each year, when his college gave him a break.

Sara wanted desperately to adopt Emily, citing child abuse on her father's part and neglect on her mother's. State officials wouldn't allow it, as they figured that any child whose parents were both at home with her was better than all of the children they saw who were missing at least one parent, and abused far worse.

"Hi!" Emily said broadly, pushing her chair to a stop in front of Sarah. "Miss me?"

Sara leaned down to hug Emily. "Yes, of course, but why are you here?"

Emily shrugged. "Got sick of being at home. Davy got arrested again and Claire's been gone for four days... I got sick of changing diapers and stuff. Mom's back in the hospital and Dad's been away at a conference."

"Where are the boys?" Sara asked, meaning Claire's two sons, Ephraim and Eli.

"I left them with Grandma Eliza," Emily answered. Grandma Eliza wasn't her grandmother at all; she was a kindly neighbor woman. "And I told her to call Social Services."

Sara looked back at Emily. "You did?"

Emily nodded. "I got sick of it. I'm staying here now."

Sara pursed her lips, then smiled and nodded. "Let's get your luggage, then I've got to stop by the office for a few minutes, and then we can go home. You must be starving."

Emily grinned, grabbing her wheelchair's push rims. "I thought you'd never ask!"


	5. Interviewing the Handyman

Back at the CSI lab, Sister Mary Scholastica had left. Catherine was left to piece together the window, and Warrick had gone down to the lab to talk to Greg. As usual, the techno-loving lab rat was standing before his computer, eagerly entering information. Next to him, the printer whirred and hummed. "Hey, Warrick," Greg greeted the CSI. "Got some new information on your priest."

"Which is?" Warrick asked, taking the file Greg handed to him.

"Well, the first is, he was drunk. Secondly, all of the blood in the church was his. The two fingerprints on the window Cath found are _not_ his. We're still running those through VICAP."

"Thanks, Greg." "No problem. If you see Cath, tell her that Father Duncan Stein called again. He wants to know when we're releasing Father Carollan-O'Malley's body for the funeral."

Warrick nodded. "Will do."

As Warrick stepped back out into the hallway, reading Greg's file, he was nearly run over by a girl in a wheelchair. "Sorry!" she called, giggling.

Sara was a few steps behind her. "Sorry, Warrick."

"Yours?" Warrick asked, puzzled.

"My niece, Emily," Sara replied. "Got to run!"

Warrick smiled as Sara ran off, following the girl. He turned and nearly took out Grissom, who was coming up the hall carrying a fish tank. "Oh, hi, Warrick. Catherine asked me to tell you your gardener suspect is here for questioning."

Warrick nodded. "Need some help, Gris?"

"No, I've got it. Thanks for asking."

Warrick saluted and headed down the hall. Catherine was waiting. "Ryan Kirk, the gardener from the church, is here. He's pretty upset. Apparently he was close to Father Carollan-O'Malley."

"Okay," Warrick said. "Father Duncan Stein called to ask when we would be releasing the body."

"I'll have to check with Doc Robbins, but it should be within the next two days."

"Good. Let's go question Mr. Kirk."

Ryan Kirk was waiting in an interrogation room. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, and wore a plaid flannel shirt, well-worn jeans, and heavy boots. A green baseball cap sat on the table next to him, and his short, dark hair looked tousled. "Hello," Catherine said, "I'm Catherine Willows and this is Warrick Brown."

"Ryan Kirk," he said.

"So you're the gardener and handyman at St. Wilhelmina's?"

"Yes," he answered. "I've been working there since I was a teenager. Father Carollan-O'Malley became the head priest there when I was fifteen. I was sort of a rowdy kid – hanging out with the wrong crowd, smoking, you know the type. Father Carollan-O'Malley was like a father figure to me – my own father left the family when I was seven."

"Did you see anything the night of Father Carollan-O'Malley's murder?"

He shook his head. "No. I had delivered Meals on Wheels that morning, and had then dropped off a load of birdseed at the church garage. It was funny, I was supposed to prune the fruit trees, but I couldn't find my knife. Anyway, after that I went to my grandmother's house for dinner. My sister, Holly, just announced her engagement, and we were having sort of a party. I stayed the night because my grandmother was going to Holyoke the next day to visit some friends, and she needed someone to drive her."

"All right. Thank you for your time."

Ryan Kirk shook Warrick's hand. "You're welcome. Please find who did this, _please_."


	6. Getting Down to Business

In the lab, Emily sat enthralled by Greg. She stared up at him in hero worship. "I've always _wanted_ to be in forensics," she said earnestly.

He nodded. "If you're as good a hacker as you just proved by hacking into our database, I'd say you've got a future."

Grissom came in. He looked from Greg to the girl in the wheelchair, and said, "Greg, I didn't think school tours were until Thursday."

"Yo, Grissom, this is Emily Sidle, Sara's niece. She just hacked our database."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Grissom said, shaking Emily's hand and seemingly not hearing Greg's comment about the database. "Greg, any news on the Heaven's Gate folks?"

"Not yet. I should have it within the next twenty minutes. Did you take care of the girl from the cult?"

"Yes, Social Services came to get her an hour ago. Did you finish trace on those fibers Sara found?"

"They should be done as soon as the blood is."

"Great. Miss Sidle, would you like some juice?"

"Yes, I'm _so_ hungry," Emily said, grinning at Grissom.

Surprisingly, he smiled back, and led her to the kitchen.

Sara came in then. "Oh, Em, you've met Grissom. Grissom, this is my niece, Emily."

"We've met," Grissom said with a smile. "Apparently she's hungry."

"I know, we're heading home as soon as I've talked to Greg."

"He won't be done for twenty minutes, Sara, that's plenty of time to eat something here. What've we got in the fridge?"

"Leftover pasta, that's Catherine's," Sara said, opening the fridge. "Warrick has some weird vegetables. Nick has two donuts in a Ziploc baggie, and I only have a yogurt and some juice."

Grissom leaned over her shoulder and pulled a bottle of fruit juice out of the rack. "Then I guess we'll have to open something." Sara shut the refrigerator, and Grissom handed the bottle to Emily. Reaching into the cabinet, he pulled out a box of crackers and handed those to Emily as well. The girl was smiling up at Sara, who was watching the older man's antics with a smile on her own face.

Quickly, Grissom turned to the next set of cabinets and brought out an apple. With a paring knife he somehow managed to scrounge up, he sliced the apple neatly and set it on a plate on the table. Emily rolled up to the table and opened the box of crackers. "Thanks," she said.

He smiled. Sara said, "When was the last time you ate, Em?"

Emily tried to think. "It might have been yesterday. Or the day before."

"Eat," Grissom urged. "I'll go check on our lab rat."

He left, and Sara was left alone with Emily. "How did you get the money for a plane ticket?" Sara asked, sitting down at the table across from Em.

"Stole it. My dad's got a stash of money in an old cigar box in the bottom of his dresser. Plus I stole some from Claire."

"Claire has money?"

"She works as a cashier's at Safeway at night. She leaves Eli and Ephraim with me or David when he's home. She had just cashed her last paycheck right before she left."

"And she forgot to take all the money for drugs?"

"There was thirty dollars in her dresser," Emily replied, taking an eager swig of juice. "And I took the rest from Dad."

"How's David?"

"In jail again."

"What'd he do this time?"

"Stole Mrs. Rutherford's car," the girl answered.

"You mean the woman who lives at the end of the lane next to your house?"

"Right."

"She's eighty-four!"

"I know. And David _has_ a car. He and Claire share it. But apparently he just couldn't wait until Claire got home from work to drive out to some party, and so he just took the car. Mrs. Rutherford's son Dan called the police and David was arrested in the center of town."

"What did your dad say?"

"Nothing. He's been living at the college for a conference lately."

Sara watched Emily eat for a few minutes. The teenager was looking a great deal paler and skinnier than she had on the occasion of her last visit. "Has there been any..." She stopped, not quite sure how to phrase the question. "Abuse?"

Emily looked up from the crackers and apples. She didn't say anything for a moment, but what she didn't say spoke volumes. Then she found her voice and said, "Yes. Claire's been smacking the boys around, David's been beating Claire, both of them on me, Dad emotionally abusing all of us. The house is dirty, and it smells, and we don't have any food. Grandma Eliza drops stuff off when she goes shopping, but either David or Claire takes it all. The boys are really malnourished. Mom's still in the hospital, otherwise she'd be hungry, too."

Sara closed her eyes. "Em," she said after a moment, "I love you, you know that. I'm going to help you however I can."

The seemingly resilient girl smiled at her aunt. "I know."

Grissom stuck his head back into the break room. "Sara, Greg's got our results. Emily, there's a TV over there, if you'd like to watch something."

"I don't watch TV," Emily said, putting the cap back on the juice. "I've got a book." As Sara stood to leave, she pulled a forensics textbook out of her backpack and smiled at her aunt. "I'll be fine until you get back."

The two of them left, and Grissom turned to Sara as they headed for Greg's lab. "Let's have a team meeting, tell everybody your niece is here with you."

"Emily's not a hassle; I'll still be able to work," Sara said, saying what she thought he needed to hear.

"That's not what I'm worried about. She'll probably want to spend a lot of time here, right? And so everyone should get a chance to meet her." He glanced through the file he was holding.

"Do you think I've got any chance in court?"

"Are you asking me for an opinion?"

Before Sara could reply, Greg swung out of the lab and all but grabbed Grissom by the shirt collar. "I've got your results!"

Grissom flashed a hint of a smile at Sara, and she followed him into the lab. "What is it, Greg?"  
"The Heaven's Gate folks? They were all drugged."

"With what?"

"Cyanatherporin."

"The new odorless, colorless, tasteless poison?" Sara asked, studying the sheets Greg handed her.

"Right. And it's not even detectable in regular blood tests. Warrick reminded me of the test for cyanatherporin when he came in to get his results."

"So how'd you find it?"

"It's detectable in the membranes of the white blood cells. There was so much blood, we had _more_ than enough to run the test. Cyanatherporin, bam!" Greg waved his hands expressively in the air to illustrate his point, grinning at Sara.

"And there's no news of any of it being sold by drug dealers?"

"Nope. Cyanatherporin is so deadly that not even dealers want to touch it."

"Well, that's good for us," Sara said.

"But not so good for our criminal," Grissom finished. "Thanks, Greg. Sara, I want you to go and check out those three shops. Take Emily with you, if you want, or Nick."

"Nick's not going to be back from Louisiana until tomorrow."

"Right. Well, then take Emily, and be back here at, say... nine-thirty for a briefing meeting."

"Okay."


	7. Interviewing Father Stein

Catherine headed for the interview room, where Father Duncan Stein was waiting. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Father," she said.

"Not a problem."

"I'm Catherine Willows. Thank you again for coming all this way."

"I'm also here to pick up the body."

Catherine grimaced inwardly. "Right. As I mentioned on the phone, I'm not sure we can release the body to you today."

"Ms. Willows, it is vitally important that the body is released today," Father Stein said. "Father Carollan-O'Malley deserves to have a decent burial, one recognized by the Church."

"I understand, Father Stein. I'll have to check with Doctor Robbins, our M.E., and it's up to him to decide whether or not to release the body."

"Ms. Willows, if you do not release the body today, I will get an order from the officiating bishop. He will force you to release the body."

Before Catherine could respond to the priest, an autopsy technician knocked on the door. "Ms. Willows, Doctor Robbins says we can release Father Carollan-O'Malley. CSI Brown checked it out already."

"Thank you, Tricia." Catherine glanced back at Father Stein, who seemed to have relaxed. "Now, Father Stein, do you feel up to answering some questions?"

"Certainly," the priest answered. He settled himself at the table Catherine indicated.

Catherine glanced down at the file folder Warrick had slipped her. "How long have you known Father Carollan-O'Malley?"

"Oh, goodness. Since he came to the rectory... ten years ago, maybe. He was recommended to St. Wilhelmina's by his superior at St. Luke-St. John's of Las Vegas, Father Randall Kent. Father Kent knew I had just lost the superior at St. Wilhelmina's, Father Augustus Von Schreck, and knew I could use some assistance."

"Where did Father Von Schreck go?"

"He died, Ms. Willows. He was very old. Eighty-five."

"I see." Catherine made a note on her paper. "Did Father Carollan-O'Malley ever express distaste at having to leave St. Luke-St. John's? Did he enjoy his work at St. Wilhelmina's?"

"Well, I should think so," Father Stein answered, surprised. "St. Wilhelmina's is noted for its charitable works. Father Kent recommended Father Carollan-O'Malley specifically because of the younger priest's desire to help people."

"What was Father Carollan-O'Malley involved in?"

"Hmmm, let's see. He started our soup kitchen, which has been very successful. He also worked with several local homeless shelters and battered women's shelters, always collecting goods and clothing for them. Father Carollan-O'Malley was a wonderful man, so charitable and kind. I don't understand why anyone would want to hurt him."

Catherine pursed her lips and looked down at her file. "I think that's all I have to ask you toady, Father Stein. If you're ready, I'll walk you down to the morgue."

Father Stein stood, his face expressionless. Gently he tugged at the Roman collar he wore. "I suppose it is time, Ms. Willows," he agreed.

Catherine opened the door for Father Stein and led him down the short hallway to the morgue. Inside, Dr. Robbins was finishing an examination with Grissom. He nodded to the desk in the corner, where his newest assistant, Tricia, sat behind a glowing computer monitor. "We're here for the body of Father Carollan-O'Malley," Catherine informed Tricia. "This is Father Duncan Stein."

Tricia nodded. "All right. Father Stein, I just need you to sign these release forms and we'll release the body to you. How are you transporting him?"

"Mitch Donovan from Donovan Funeral Homes is coming," Father Stein replied, diligently signing the forms.

Catherine gave Father Stein a moment to collect himself. As she waited, she wandered over to Grissom. "That's about it," Doc Robbins was saying.

"Catherine," Grissom greeted her. "We're having a meeting at nine-thirty, okay?"

"Okay. I'll get some doughnuts on my break."

"Excellent," Doc Robbins said, smiling and rubbing his hands together. "Buy a few bear's claws, will you?"

"I always do," Catherine answered, rewarding him with a smile.

"Good. I'll have your test results within the hour, Grissom," Robbins said.

Grissom left the morgue, and Catherine returned to Father Stein. A short, balding man with horn-rimmed glasses was standing next to Father Stein. "This is Mitch Donovan," Father Stein said, introducing the man to Catherine.

They made the final arrangements to release the body, and Catherine left, leaving Father Stein to grieve for his colleague.


	8. A Break in the Case?

Sara returned to Greg's lab at five-thirty. Emily was with her, seemingly no more tired than she had been at two o'clock. As Greg and Sara chatted, Emily read her forensics textbook. She had bought it from her father's college's bookstore, and it was one of the best investments she had ever made. Contrary to Greg's opinion, Emily did not want to be a hacker. She would rather be a legitimate investigator just like her Aunt Sara.

"Well, I finished analyzing the cyanatherporin," Greg said, handing Sara copies of his print-outs. "There was enough in the blood to kill an elephant. At least."

"Anything else?"

"Well, I ran trace on those fibers Grissom found," Greg continued, "and discovered that they were from some sort of carpeting."

"Carpeting? That's odd; the place where the bodies were found had hardwood floors. And I think Brass mentioned that _all_ the buildings at the Gate of Heaven complex had hardwood floors. None of them had carpeting."

"Well, it's obviously carpeting, whether or not the Gate of Heaven folks had them. I'm still doing trace on the shoes."

Catherine stuck her head into Greg's lab. "Hey, Greg, any news on Father Carollan-O'Malley?"

"Not yet. Warrick's still trying to put the window back together."

"He's not here yet," Catherine informed Greg. "He took a dinner break and he'll be back later. The window's still laid out on the table in the workroom, though."

"Did he tell you about the mysterious element we discovered in panels of the window?" Greg asked.

"No, what is it?" Catherine asked.

"Hmm! A surprise! Come with me and I will show you, Catherine my sweet!"

Catherine smiled at Sara and Emily before following Greg off to a corner of his lab.

At nine-thirty, the CSIs met in the break room. Warrick and Nick – freshly returned from his stint in Louisiana - were watching ESPN as they waited for the meeting to commence. Nick sipped coffee from a maroon Tim Horton's paper mug, while Warrick had opted to chew on a toothpick. Catherine had heated up a Pasta Anytime bowl, and sat eating chicken Alfredo. Sara and Emily had brought peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches on white bread, peach strudel, and apples.

Grissom entered, carrying a manila folder, and smiled at his gathered CSIs. "Welcome, welcome," he said, turning off the TV.

"Hey, Griss!" Nick exclaimed. "The Patriots were just about to score on the Rams again!"

Grissom shrugged, as though to say he didn't care. "We're here to be introduced to one of our colleagues' relatives, who will be staying with us for the foreseeable future. Emily Sidle, I'd like you to meet Warrick Brown, Nick Stokes, and Catherine Willows."

Before Emily could say anything, Brass stuck his head into the room. "What's this, a party?" he demanded in his gruff voice. "I've got that information you asked for, Gil."

Grissom gave a half-smile to Brass and said, "Great! Brass, this is Sara's niece, Emily."

"Pleased to meet you," Brass said, offering his hand to Emily and a manila folder to Grissom, who paged through its contents.

"Excellent," Grissom said.

"The guy will be here within the hour," Brass said. "I called out to the service he's employed by, and they said they'd send him out."

"What guy?" Sara asked.

"There's a man who drives a delivery truck… or _drove_ a delivery truck out to the Gate of Heaven complex twice a week," Grissom said. "His name is Maxwell Sharpe, and he was one of the last people to see the Gate of Heaven residents alive."

"And here's what else," Brass said, leaning towards Sara, "his truck is carpeted."


	9. Interviewing the Driver

Maxwell Sharpe was in his late twenties. He wore a green baseball cap with the logo for Prestige Drivers, the company he worked for, embroidered on the front. He also wore khaki pants, dark shoes, and a Prestige Drivers green polo shirt. As Sara and Grissom entered the interrogation room, he twisted his baseball cap in his hands. "What's this about?" he asked. "Do I need a lawyer?"

"No, Mr. Sharpe, you don't _need_ one, but you are entitled to one, if you so desire," Sara informed him.

Maxwell looked from Sara to Grissom, started to speak but decided against it, and set his baseball cap on the table.

"Good," Grissom said. "Now, Mr. Sharpe, as a driver for Prestige Drivers, you drive out to the Gate of Heaven complex on Klordaalva Highway twice a week?"

"That is correct."

"And what do you do there?"

"I deliver bread and meat from Weston Groceries, which is located on Sherman Street."

"Who do you see at the complex?"

"There's just one man. The leader. Robert Reilly. I drop off the bread and the meat, and he takes it inside the room where they eat. I never see anybody else, except maybe one or two of the guys."

"Do you know their names?"

"Hmm… One is named Marcus, I think, and the other is David. But I never see any of the women or the kids."

"Does anyone else ever drive the truck?"

"Jim. Jim Bernhard. Sometimes he drives the truck when I'm sick or I get the Summit Road route. But Jim up and quit last week."

"When was the last time you were at the complex?"

"Last Friday. I made my regular delivery at 10:30 a.m., as usual. Robert Reilly and the man he calls David were standing out front."

"Did anything seem off to you?"

"No, sir."

"Was there anything suspicious in their behavior?"

"No, sir. We made the usual polite chit-chat with each other. They don't really like to talk to me because I'm not on the inside of their cult, but they'll talk about the weather and stuff."

"This leader… Robert Reilly. Could you describe him?"

"Yes, sir," Maxwell answered. "I most certainly could."

"So you could identify him, if we showed you a picture of him?"

"That's right."

Grissom opened a large black vinyl binder, flipped to a page, and shoved it towards Maxwell Sharpe. Held between two sheets of plastic was an article from _The Las Vegas Sun_, a local tabloid. The article's bold headline read "Cult Leader Embroiled in Custody Scandal." Robert Reilly's picture was printed next to the second column of type. "Is this him?"

"Yes, sir."

"So, do you think you could identify him here?" Grissom asked, closing the first binder and opening a second. Inside were pictures of the dead cult members as Dr. Robbins had taken them at the morgue. "Which one is Robert Reilly?"

Maxwell Sharpe recoiled in horror. "What is the meaning of this, Detective Grissom?"

Grissom either didn't hear the title or didn't feel it was worth correcting Maxwell. "These are pictures taken yesterday, Mr. Sharpe. Is Robert Reilly among them?"

His eyes as wide as saucers, Maxwell began to page through the binder. Ten minutes later, he looked up and said, "No. Robert Reilly isn't here."

"You haven't seen him in any of those pictures?"

"No, sir."

Grissom nodded thoughtfully. "Well, then I'd say there are only two things we need from you, Mr. Sharpe."

"What's that, sir?"

"A carpet sample from your truck and a DNA sample from you."


	10. Evan

"Sara, the phone's for you," Catherine said without looking up from the worktable, where she was carefully piecing together the stained glass window.

Sara nodded and reached for the extension in the workroom. "Hello?"

"What the hell have you done with my daughter?"

"Well, hello, Evan, it's nice to hear from you, too." Sara mentally grimaced. Her older brother was angrier than she'd counted on.

"I'll say it again and I'll say it slow. Where the hell is Emily?"

"Gee, Evan, maybe you should keep a closer eye on your daughter. Did you know she can't walk, or were you away at a conference then, too?"

Evan growled on the other end of the phone. "You better not have taken her away from me, Sara."

"I'll have you know that Emily came here of her own free will."

"Bull."

"What, Evan? Are you upset that your daughter finally made a decision without you?"

Sara's brother growled again. "Don't give me that crap, Sara. Did you call the police or not?

Tried to report me as an abuser, did you?"

"Not yet," Sara retorted. "But I'm sure that when I show the proper authorities the bruises Emily has and they hear her stories of what it's like to live at home, they won't be too slow in calling you."

"I do not abuse my daughter!" Evan bellowed.

"You may not call it that, but it goes by that name. Do I have to remind you about Mom?"

Evan was silent for a moment. Sara took a deep breath.

"Fine. She can stay for awhile. She's ahead of everyone in school anyway. Damn it, Sara, why'd you do this?"

"I told you, Evan, she came by herself."

There was another long silence. "Did you call Social Services?" he asked, his voice calmer.

"Not yet."

And with that, Sara hung up on her brother.

Catherine looked up from her piecework. Her tweezers balanced carefully above a fragment of yellow glass, she said, "Was that Emily's father?"

Sara nodded. "My brother. Evan."

"He's not too happy?"

"That's a bit of an understatement. I think he's reevaluating his life right now."

"That bad, huh?"

Sara snapped on a pair of latex gloves and grabbed Catherine's spare set of tweezers, then leaned over the half-completed jigsaw puzzle of window pieces. Carefully she grasped a triangular piece of blue glass and slid it towards its rightful place. As she worked, she began to tell Catherine the story of Ethan's family, the three kids, Ethan's wife Regina, and the horrors of that very complex family.

When she was done, Catherine whistled softly under her breath. "Look at that," she said, nodding towards the window, spread out on the table in front of the CSIs.

Without realizing it, Sara had completed half of the unfinished window, leaving Catherine with only the final fourth of the glass jigsaw puzzle to finish. "Thank you," Catherine said gratefully.

Sara looked down at the puzzle, surprised. "You're welcome, I think."


	11. Following the Leads

Warrick stepped quickly towards the workroom, where he could still see Catherine's blond head bent over the window. "Catherine, just the person I wanted to see," he said, smiling broadly.

Catherine looked up at Warrick. "Good news?"

"Yes," Warrick replied. "We've traced the fingerprint found on the knife left at the church."  
"Whose is it?" Catherine asked.

"It belongs to Ryan Kirk."

"Ryan Kirk? The gardener? But he wasn't at the church."

"He _said_ he wasn't," Warrick corrected. "He said he was at his grandmother's."

Catherine sighed. "Then I guess we call her and check it out."

Twenty minutes later, having called both Holly Kirk, Ryan's sister, and Esther Kirk, his grandmother, Catherine returned to the workroom. Warrick was successfully sliding a piece of amber-colored glass into the window's outline. "Both Holly and Esther confirm Ryan's story. He was at Esther's house that night, and then drove her to Holyoke the next day."

"So it wasn't Ryan," Warrick said, looking up. "But his print was on the knife."

Catherine shrugged. "He did say he was missing a knife. Someone could have taken it from the church garage and used it to kill Father Carollan-O'Malley."

"Right," Warrick agreed. "But we don't have any other suspects, so Mr. Kirk seems like a plausible lead."

"Bring him back in, Warrick," Catherine suggested.

"I'm on it," Warrick promised, and ducked out of the workroom.

Grissom swung into Greg's lab. "Any matches on the carpet sample from Mr. Sharpe?"

"Nope," Greg said. "And his DNA doesn't match any you picked up at the compound, either."

Grissom frowned. "Great."

Sara ducked into the lab. "Hey! Grissom! I just got off the phone with Detective O'Reilly, and he said their other driver who sometimes did the cult route, Jim Bernhard, just got picked up on a DUI and we can interview him."

"Good," Grissom said. "Where's Emily?"

"Still studying."

"Has she been to sleep yet?"

Sara shrugged. "I don't think so. Shift's over at noon, we'll go home then."

They went down the hallway to the first interview room on the right. A short, balding man in an ugly pinstriped shirt and a clashing brown tweed blazer worn jauntily with brown polyester pants and scuffed wingtips was seated at the metal table. His hair was thinning and combed-over. His eyes were blue and watery. He managed a small smile as Sara and Grissom entered the room.

"Jim Bernhard?" Grissom asked. The man smiled in acquiescence. "We'd like to ask you some questions about the Gate of Heaven group."

"I don't know nothing about them," Jim said. He put his hands on the table and began cracking his knuckles, one by one. "Haven't seen them for two weeks."

"Right. Was anything amiss when you were at the complex last?"  
"Don't think so. But you know, there's not really any way to tell. They keep that place so secluded, there could have been a mass murder there and you'd never know."

Sara glanced at Grissom, who glanced back.

"But nothing's wrong with them, right?" Jim asked. "I just got picked up for drunk driving. This has nothing to do with those folks, right?"

"Mr. Bernhard, where were you on Tuesday night?" Grissom asked in return.

"At my wife's house," Jim said, a bit sheepishly. "We just got divorced, and it's been really hard on me. I drove over to Kathy's to see if I could just talk to her."

"Is this the same wife who has a restraining order against you?" Sara asked, noting the paper in the man's file.

"Yeah," he replied, still sheepishly. "I just wanted to talk to her. I sat outside for about an hour and a half, but Kathy wasn't home."

"So you were nowhere near the Gate of Heaven complex?" Grissom questioned.

"That's right. I went to Kathy's and then I went to a bar down on the Strip. Sat there for about two hours drinking martinis and feeling sorry for myself."

"All right, Mr. Bernhard," Grissom said. "We just need a DNA sample from you."

"A DNA sample? What's that for?" Jim asked.

"We're just trying to rule out possible suspects."

"Suspects for what?"

"Are you willing to give us the DNA sample?" Grissom countered.

"Of course. I haven't done anything wrong."

A few minutes later, the DNA sample collected, the very confused truck driver left, and Grissom turned to Sara. "Get this to Greg," he said, "and then you and Emily should go home."


End file.
